


Savoy Truffle

by MistralAmara



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: F/M, Gen, Pre-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-24
Updated: 2011-06-24
Packaged: 2017-10-20 17:05:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistralAmara/pseuds/MistralAmara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Avon meets an intriguing woman at the Savoy brunch buffet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Savoy Truffle

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the b7friday group's weekly challenge. This challenge was to base a story on a Beatles song title.

He met her over the dessert tray of the Savoy brunch buffet, on one of his semi-annual visits. It took him the full six months to save enough for the entry fee--computer technicians of his caliber were vastly underpaid, in his opinion--but it was every bite worth it. He was trying to decide between a cream horn and turtle cake, and had very nearly settled on both, when a graceful, feminine hand cut across his view and lighted on a chocolate-dipped pineapple spear decorated with buttercream rosettes and imported candied violets. Intrigued, he watched as the rather improbable morsel was carried back and up, into the waiting mouth of an elegant blonde whose trim figure seemed at odds with the plate, piled high with iced fruits and cakes, that she balanced in her other hand.

It would be difficult to say which he lusted after more--the perfectly appointed blonde, with all the cool confidence and unconscious arrogance of a born Alpha, or the smooth, rich, dark chocolate, brought from off-Earth, and with import tariffs so high that none but the wealthiest Alphas could afford it as anything other than a festival treat--but considering that he'd ignored them both until the former picked up the latter, it was probably the combination that drew him. He was unable to look away as she devoured the confection with the sort of casual lasciviousness that only the highborn dared to display in public. She chewed slowly, sensually, her eyes half-closed in apparent delight, and he could almost feel the rush of endorphins to his own brain, as if he had consumed the chocolate himself.

So absorbed was he, that it took him entirely by surprise when she opened her eyes--focused, intelligent eyes--and looked directly at him. An amused half-smile said that she knew exactly how long he'd been staring. Still, he couldn't look away.

She licked one chocolatey finger and regarded him steadily in return. "You must think me a pig," she said, though she didn't seem the least bit embarrassed.

"Not at all," he replied, and, suddenly desperate for a way to salvage the encounter, seized the nearest dish and offered it to her. "Tart?"

It wasn't until she laughed and shook her head that he realized he'd said something gauche. To cover his discomfort, he set down the dish and began piling tarts onto his own plate.

"I see you've a sweet tooth," she said. "Something we have in common."

"Yes." And very likely the only thing they had in common; women like that rarely looked at him twice, and never a third time. Still, a chance to talk to a beautiful, sophisticated woman didn't come along for him every day. Perhaps he might try again. "Did you come here just for the brunch?"

"No, I have a room. I came down for the company; I don't like to eat alone."

"And the food's not bad, either." Well, banal was better than gauche. Marginally.

"It's delicious. Though it's nothing compared to the room service menu--truffle omelette with perigueux sauce, fugu sashimi, triple chocolate torte with banana-rum whip, forty-two flavors of ice cream. . . ." She fanned herself.

A perverse honesty forced him to say, "I've never had the pleasure. I'm afraid my salary won't stretch to the price of a room here."

He expected that would finally put an end to the conversation, but instead she smiled conspiratorially. "Nor will mine. That's what expense accounts are for." She eyed him a long moment. "Look, I hope you don't think this is too forward. . . . Have you ever had Grand Marnier fondue?"

It occurred to him as they made their way to the elevators that he ought to introduce himself. "By the way, my name is Avon."

"You can call me Anna," she replied. "Anna Grant."

-End-


End file.
